Man, if you ever searched up “Deity Tarot Spread,” you saw the same thing I did. These huge, complicated layouts. I saw one that was like fifteen cards—what the deity needs, what the deity offers, the relationship past, present, future, the deity’s favorite color, the sound of the wind on Mount Olympus… total crap. I swear, the people who designed those spreads never actually tried reading them for a real answer. They just look good on a Pinterest graphic.
I wasted weeks trying those complicated methods. I was trying to connect with Hecate about a big life crossroad—you know, the Goddess of the crossroads. I figured she’d appreciate the complexity. Wrong. Those spreads just gave me a massive headache. Too much input. It was like I was listening to a hundred people yelling the same word. The true message got completely buried in the noise and the minor cards. I was logging twenty-five pages of notes per reading, and when I looked back, the core guidance was invisible.
My goal was to get a clear, practical directive. I needed a way to cut through the fluff and get to the god or goddess’s main point. I needed clarity, not a novel.
The Great Simplification Mess-up
My breakthrough actually came from a total disaster. Like, a literal mess. I’m usually pretty organized with my logs, but this was a breaking point. Last month, I was wrestling with a huge career decision. I’d been dithering for months, pushing off the big choice. I finally decided to lay out a massive 12-card spread—one of those online beauties—for Hermes, the Messenger, hoping he’d just give me the straight dope and tell me which job to take.
Nope. I pulled two pages of Swords, a couple of miserable looking Fives, and a wall of pips that seemed to contradict each other every other pull. It was twelve separate stories, not one message. I remember sitting there, my eyes crossing, trying to journal the twelfth card and its supposed connection to the “Divine Gift I Must Accept,” when my dog Buster decided my fresh glass of iced tea was his enemy. He whacked the glass with his tail. Splash. Tea all over the cards, the silk altar cloth, and my notebook. Ruined the mood. Ruined the reading. I snatched up the damp deck, yelled at the dog—who just wagged his tail, delighted—and gave up. I was angry and frustrated.
After cleaning up, I was just about done for the night. I had five cards that hadn’t turned soggy. I wiped them down, gathered the full deck, and just said out loud, “Screw it. Just tell me one thing I need to know.” I shuffled the now slightly-damp, sticky deck, closed my eyes, and pulled three cards. I didn’t assign them fancy, pre-determined positions. I just pulled three in one smooth motion.
That accidental three-card pull was the best “Deity Spread” I’d ever done. It was crystal clear. It wasn’t a spread, really. It was a direct line. So I immediately stopped all that complicated nonsense and started testing my way. I call it the Triad Talk because it’s fast, direct, and just three parts, like a quick chat with no small talk.
This is the simple process I locked down, logged, and still use:
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Prep and Focus: I clean up the space, every time. I light one candle, usually white or matching the energy I want to pull. No fancy music, just quiet focus. I state the deity’s name and the big, single question I need answered. No ambiguity. If the question is weak, the answer will be weak. I make sure I feel the question in my gut.
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The Pull: I shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, thinking only of the deity and the question. When the deck feels warm, or I feel that psychic shift—you know the one—I cut the deck into three stacks. I pull one card from the top of each stack. I never look at the cards until all three are in place. One, two, three. Done.
The Triad Talk Layout and Log
The magic of this method isn’t the number of cards; it’s what I make them do when I log them. I assigned super simple, action-oriented roles. This is where I found the power—in the simplicity of the assignment:
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Card One: The Vibe/Energy. This is the initial message’s energy. Is the deity happy with the approach? Are they stern? Are they pushing me to grow? Is it gentle advice? It sets the tone for the entire conversation. If it’s a harsh Major Arcana (like The Tower), I know the advice is going to be tough love or a forced change. It’s the filter.
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Card Two: The Core Advice/Directive. This is the gut punch. The direct, simple answer to the question. It needs no interpretation beyond the card’s main, established meaning. If I asked Aphrodite about a relationship and got the Two of Pentacles, the message is simple: balance your focus, stop obsessing about the one thing, manage the two things. I log the core meaning and stop.
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Card Three: The Immediate Action. This is what I have to do right now. Not a long-term plan. What is the single practical step to take after the reading is done? This is what separates this spread from the fluffy, passive ones. It forces action. It demands movement and change.
The difference in my practice was night and day. The first time I used this new, simplified approach after the Buster incident, I pulled for my next career move and got: The Hierophant, The Emperor, and Eight of Wands.
My interpretation log shows this clean message:
Vibe (Hierophant): Formal, traditional, established path is what you need to follow right now. Listen to established authority.
Core Advice (Emperor): Take control, stop asking for permission, rule your domain, be the ultimate authority.
Immediate Action (Eight of Wands): Move fast, communicate quickly, stop delaying this decision and launch yourself into the next phase.
It sounds contradictory on the surface, but the meaning was clear: I had to respect the traditional knowledge (Hierophant) while simultaneously taking ultimate authority over my own life (Emperor) and moving with speed (Eight of Wands). I stopped waiting for permission from the job market and, using my accumulated knowledge, I launched my own small consulting side-gig that week. I didn’t bother trying to find a new job; I became my own boss. It was scary, but the message was so clean and compelling, I couldn’t ignore it. The success I’ve had in the last three months? It’s all because I threw out the internet’s garbage spreads and just decided to pull three damn cards.
Stop overthinking it. The best way to talk to the Gods isn’t with a complex map; it’s with a direct, simple message. If you want results you can actually act on, you gotta simplify the process. Trust me. Log it, and you’ll see the pattern lock in faster than any ten-card spread ever could.
